


Six Times

by Nehszriah



Series: The Thick of UNIT [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I have no idea why I haven't posted this before now, Pre-Goolding Inquiry, Pre-Story, Prompt Fic, The Thick Of Unit, cameo by OFC!Fiona's dad, how the frick frack did I originally tag the wrong jamie wtf, single mum Kate, small children being small, teen punk Malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: The universe keeps on having Kate Stewart and Malcolm Tucker run into one another. Too bad it always seems like it will take at least once more before it's for good.[The Thick of UNIT potential backstory material]





	Six Times

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing some TTOU main story and realized that I had never crossposted this over here despite it being over a year old (plus a little editing).

_1978_

“’Ey there, love, can you point us toward the nearest fire escape? Dyin’ fer a fag.”

Kate glanced up from her book and saw a young man standing nearish to her and attempted not to cringe. Cut-off denim jacket sleeves and kohl around his eyes and wild brown hair that had one long, red streak via his curly bangs made him look exactly the sort of person she didn’t want to be caught _dead_ talking to, especially in the library.

“Out the window,” she said, “unless they place them right outside the door in Glasgow.”

“Oi, you makin’ fun o’me?”

“No, just making an observation.” She raised her eyebrow at him and his combat boots with a backdrop of journalism books on the shelves behind him. “Why don’t you light up in the loo or at your table like everyone else?”

“’Cause _I’m_ the one who wants t’suck down a fag, not you; now would yeh hurry up? If I’m not back in a tic I’ll get skinned alive.”

Huh… that _was_ an interesting observation. “Through the west corridor, over by Classics, past the floor’s card catalogue, and to the right.”

“Thanks. Ta.”

He wandered off, leaving Kate to shake her head in an attempt to forget the encounter entirely. One did run into some interesting people by the library.

* * *

_1991_

“Mummy… ice creams…”

“I know, Gordy. Just give Mummy a minute, okay?” Kate fumbled around in her purse, attempting to scrounge up the change. When Johnathan was still living with them, she could afford to spoil her son every so often. Now, well, she was lucky to be in Scotland, let alone have any spare change leftover for ice cream.

Ah! She had just enough, and paid the man at the cart, which allowed the boy to pick the flavor he wanted and soon they were walking along in the park hand-in-hand. After finding a nicely shaded bench, Kate sat down and watched as Gordon aimlessly wandered about, poking at bugs and startling squirrels. She took a memo pad from her purse and scratched off another company name whose interview process she’d failed. It was looking more and more like she’d have to move back to England, back to the shoddy little houseboat that she and Johnathan had spruced up before they were expecting Gordon—the one he dumped her in after she refused to marry him.

“Pardon me, Miss—that your boy?” a voice asked. Kate glanced up and saw a pair of men, one tall and skinny with a slim journalist’s notebook and the other short and slim but with a camera around his neck. Short held up his camera and grinned. “Can we take a photo? We’re on the sodding Local Section for the Herald and he’s the kind of kid they love to print in the summer.”

“Go ahead—Gordon! Come here please!” The toddler bounced over, his face and hand smeared with ice cream and beaming in his sugar rush. “This nice man wants to take your picture. Can you be a good boy and smile for him?”

“Okay!” Gordon said. He bared his teeth, allowing Short to take a photo. When that was done, he shrieked and scampered off, very pleased with himself.

“Thanks, Miss,” Tall said. He shook her hand before sitting down on the bench next to her, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Can I please have the lad’s name and age?”

“Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, and he’s nearly three. I’m Kate and I’m here on business.”

“There an address I can send a copy to if it turns out alright?”

“Oi! All my photos turn out alright!” Short argued. “C’man, Malc; let’s get a move on. No time to chat up birds.”

“Keep yer knickers straight, Jamie—I’m comin’,” Tall snapped back. Kate gave him the houseboat’s address and wished her well on her business venture before heading off.

When she returned to the boathouse, Kate found a nondescript envelope addressed to her and Gordon amongst all the junk and bills and whatnot. It was a couple black and white snapshots of the two of them, along with the negatives and a scrawled “From your friends at the Herald”.

Those photos stayed taped to the refrigerator for years to come.

* * *

_1997_

With Gordon at his father’s, Loris thought it would be a good idea to go on a walk, just him and his girls. It wasn’t all that often it was only the three of them, and although he didn’t necessarily _mind_ the presence of his stepson, spending time with his wife and child was something he didn’t want to screw up, not this time. He was spending more than a few extra hours at the office and he wanted to make up for it.

“This feels so nice,” he chuckled to himself. Kate was next to him pushing Fiona in her pram. “We should take walks more often.”

“Sooner rather than later,” she replied. “I talked with Mum and she’s willing to babysit the kids for certain.”

“I’m still not entirely sure why you want to get into that shady organization of your father’s,” he frowned in concern. “I mean, rigorous training and classes that take you away from the kids, all for what? You said yourself the organization destroyed your parents’ marriage and kept Alistair distant. If you really _do_ want to work, I won’t stop you, but this doesn’t sound like it’s all on the up-and-up…”

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” she assured. She glanced down at their daughter, seeing that she was still batting at the soft toys dangling above her head, and smiled. “I’m doing it for the kids… trust me.” Kate then looked at her husband curiously. “Have you heard from Marco?”

“No, but I…” He was about to continue, but a man in a grey suit was power-walking down the pavement at the same time, shouting into a mobile, and they bumped shoulders. “Hey! Watch it, arse-hole!”

“Go fuck a rabid goat,” the stranger shot back. He paused to actually _look_ at Loris and snorted. “My mistake—a _gilt_ rabid goat.”

“Pardon me, but that’s not the way you talk in front of a woman and her kid!”

“Loris, please…” Kate muttered.

“See? You don’t even fucking remember me,” the stranger scowled. “I come into your office, trying to convince you that the British pound needs to be invested here and not on the Continent, and you can’t even fucking bother to remember my face. Well, remember it, you lousy cunt.” He turned his attention towards Kate, who was incredibly confused. “Sorry you had to hear that; don’t be surprised if you’re signing divorce papers from this soggy cannoli.”

“That is out of line!” Loris snarled. The stranger rolled his eyes and stormed off, returning his ire to the mobile. “The _nerve_ of that man!”

“Was what he said true?” Kate asked.

“Yes and no: he _did_ come into my office last week and cussed me out, but it was about some mergers I’m trying to make sure happen before all this euro business goes down. Need to protect the exchange rate and all that.”

They then began walking again, bringing the pace up to before as Fiona giggled in her pram.

“…you don’t even like cannolis.”

“Sugary southern crap.”

“Language.”

“But it’s true.”

“Don’t care.”

* * *

_2001_

Malcolm Tucker felt _great_.

He strutted down the pavement, jacket flapping about in the breeze. It had been a couple years now, but the feeling of quelling another true crisis, eliminating another Party-destroying disaster, was still great. The Spring day was even in agreement with him, as it rarely was otherwise, and little felt as though it could dampen his day. He spotted a chip vendor out of the corner of his eye and walked towards it, deciding to splurge. How could he resist?

Standing in line, Malcolm felt a tiny hand tug at the hem of his jacket. He glanced down and saw a little girl who was staring up at him curiously.

“Do you know where Mummy is?” she asked, not a lick of panic in her voice. It was Malcolm’s turn to get chips, to which he sighed in defeat.

“No, but I can help. You hungry?”

“Oooh! Yes, please!” She accepted the chips and they walked over to a bench that was on the edge of the adjacent park, with Malcolm sitting down and the girl standing on the seat, keeping a lookout while munching on chips. Her temporary guardian sat with his own, making sure the tot didn’t fall off the bench. She was adorable, like his niece when she was that age if he was honest, and he knew that had this been his Lex searching for Marcia, he’d feel safer someone was watching over her until the cavalry arrived.

About ten minutes had passed before a woman came rushing up to the bench, scooping up the child in a big hug. Malcolm chewed idly on a chip, watching their interaction.

“ _Fiona Francesca_ , don’t you _ever_ walk away from me like that again,” she scolded. “Where have you **_been_**?! I’ve been so worried!”

“I saw a butterfly, and I looked at it, and you were gone!” the girl explained. She then pointed towards Malcolm. “He had walkeded by us, so I asked him if he seen you, but he bought me chips and waited instead!”

“Oh my gosh, _thank you_ ,” the woman exhaled, finally noticing the man sitting next to her daughter. “Here, let me pay you back for the chips…”

“It’s no problem—I can see this having happened to my niece back in the day,” he grinned. Malcolm stood up and binned the chip paper, shoving his hands in his pockets afterwards. The bottle-brunette in front of him was cute as well, but the sort of cute that made his eyes flick momentarily towards her left hand—no ring. “Our little ones certainly have spirit.”

“That they do,” the woman agreed. She turned towards her daughter and hugged her tightly. “Now what do we say?”

“Thank you for the chips, Mister,” she beamed. Malcolm patted her head gently, giving her a smile in return.

“Now stay with your mam, yeah? She can’t go running after you all the time, and not all blokes who buy you chips are nice.”

“Okay,” the girl giggled. They then parted ways, sure that it was merely a good deed, and that London was a big enough city to where they’d never meet again.

* * *

_2008_

“…and to what do I owe this delight?” Kate asked snarkily into the phone. On the other end was a snarling Scottish voice—one of the PM’s enforcers, as so many of them were Scottish for some reason—and he did not sound the least bit happy.

“Don’t step on our fucking toes, is why,” he warned. “I know what you nutters get up to, and there was no fucking reason for you to interfere with that exercise over in Wales.”

“We had all the reasons to involve ourselves over in Wales,” she said. She flipped through her notes, handwritten and precise. “I believe it is your job to tell the public what it wants to hear, so by all means, do your job.”

“Fuck off and give me to your supervisor, or at least someone who can give me a real answer.”

“Best I can do is hand you over to Mulligan in Communications, but he’ll give you the same story you have on your desk.”

“You mean to say that I’m supposed to tell the public that the destruction of a local war monument was the unfortunate side-effect of friendly fire in a joint military exercise? The fucking thing’s sitting at the bottom of a chasm wider than the average American arse!”

“It’s not my problem if you can’t spin the story; now good day,” Kate said. She hung up the phone, cutting off the string of Glaswegian expletives that were coming from the receiver, and went back to work. The day UNIT had a complete map of all Silurian resting compounds couldn’t come soon enough, in her opinion, because then they could stop people from blowing them up on accident, as well as preventing the after-effects.

* * *

_2010_

Malcolm glanced across the way, seeing the woman sitting across from him on the for-once sparse Tube car. She was concentrating on her mobile, on whatever it was that required her attention, and it sent something through him that he couldn’t pin. It was very likely him attempting to forget work, but she was possibly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Many of the other blokes in the Party would have said otherwise, especially considering money and position could get them any number of nubile young things, but he knew that a woman his age could be twice as gorgeous, and the proof was sitting right in front of him. After all Nicola's cockups he had been mopping up after lately, a distraction was more than nice.

“Do you mind?” she asked, finally noticing him. English… alright… Malcolm could handle an English lass.

“Sorry—just not used to being in the presence of actual people,” he replied. She took him in for a quick moment, making note of his suit.

“If that’s code for ‘I work at a school and am trying to pick you up’, it’s not working.”

Ouch, that was a sharp tongue, and it only made him want to know more about the brain behind it. “If you’re interested, then yes; if not, then at least I tried.”

“Well, I _might_ ,” she said, making him feel better than he had in a long time, “but I’m not sure about how interested my kids might be.”

“If that’s the case, then don’t mind me,” he said, nodding respectfully. “I was that kid once; it’s not easy.”

“…hence no forceful insistence.”

“Precisely.” The car slowed as it came to her stop. “Take care then…?”

“Kate.”

“Malcolm.”

“Yeah—take care.”

She then exited the car and left, glancing back over her shoulder when she heard the train pull away. He was gone, though little did she know that he was going towards one of the worst days he would have at work in his entire life.


End file.
